


Thomas Nightingale and the Bowl of Dreams

by beili, Val Mora (valmora)



Category: Indiana Jones Series, Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Car Breakdowns, Gen, WIP Amnesty, opening scene only, the Nightingale in Asia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22096294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beili/pseuds/beili, https://archiveofourown.org/users/valmora/pseuds/Val%20Mora
Summary: Indiana Jones is trying to save a 16th-century (or possibly earlier) bowl decorated in a unique Tibetan Buddhist pattern from being looted by Nazis who think they're archaeologists.Thomas Nightingale's assignment is to find and contain a potentially volatile magical artefact before a group of German officers - who may be practitioners - find it and use it for unethical ends.Between the two of them, what begins in Tibet doesn't stay in Tibet.(WIP amnesty'd - just the opening scene)
Kudos: 36





	Thomas Nightingale and the Bowl of Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> It's canon that Nightingale has stories about traipsing through Tibet fighting Nazis (see _Whispers_ ). He _says_ it was a wild goose chase, but...
> 
> This is the opening scene _only_ of the story. There were going to be approximately 30K words, Nazis, a true magical artifact, Indy and TN tag-teaming using the magical artifact like a shield à la Captain America to fight said Nazis, and a moralizing digression about self-determination for local and indigenous magical traditions. It may still get written. If that happens we'll link to it, but don't hold your breath.

Thomas was halfway up the mountain when the car stopped. His guide, a local fellow who'd been referred to by the local British officials as "Ma" and who refused to tell Thomas his name, made a face. The face was extremely expressive; Ma had a full repertoire of expressions, all of which Thomas suspected worked out to 'these Englishmen are mad,' with varying levels of obsequiousness appended.

"Bad car," Ma said in English. He didn't speak any of the Indian languages Thomas had managed to pick up a smattering of during his stationing here.

"So I see," Thomas said, and put the hood down. "We'll just have to telegram it when we get there."

Ma laughed. "No telegram," he said cheerfully. "No post."

"Then the car will go missing," Thomas said, and abandoned it. Time was of the essence, after all.

They were four hours further along the road when another car came bumping up towards them, and then stopped. A rough voice called out something that sounded like the local language, but when a hand reached from the seat to tip the driver's hat back, the driver turned out to be Caucasian, in the broader European sense.

It was a truly ridiculous hat.

Ma said something, and the driver frowned in incomprehension. "English?" he asked.

"Yes," Thomas said.

"Need a ride?" the driver asked. His accent was was American, and he himself was dark-haired, with a piercing gaze and a broad smile that he turned on Thomas.

"Please," Thomas said. "We're going to..." he checked his instructions, but before he could finish, the man said, "Only one place worth going to on this road. Hop in."

So they did.

"I think you're the first white guy I've seen out this far," the man said. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm looking for a certain temple," Thomas said. "Mr. Ma is accompanying me."

"Really?" the man said. "I'm looking for a temple too." He narrowed his eyes and looked away from the road at Thomas. "You're not the new guy out of Edinburgh, are you? Because I gotta say, if you are -"

"I assure you I am not," Thomas said, bemused. "Who is this 'new guy' out of Edinburgh?"

"The university there just hired one of my advisor's newest graduates," the man said. "I don't know the guy personally, but his methods..." The man spat out the window of the car.

"In what field?" Thomas asked.

"Archaeology," the man said. "Henry Jones, but call me Indiana. Sorry for not shaking your hand while I'm driving."

"It's quite all right. Thomas Nightingale," Thomas said, over a sudden depressing premonition.


End file.
